


I'll Keep My Cool but I'm Fiendin

by theoraclespecialist



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 10:41:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10920168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoraclespecialist/pseuds/theoraclespecialist
Summary: From the first moment, he knew that something would be different. He expected the banter, he expected the connection, he expected the goofy smiles and he expected the affectionate cuddles.He did not expect to be falling in love quite so hard, though.





	I'll Keep My Cool but I'm Fiendin

**September 27, 2015**

“Dier, dier...that’s poor from you. I thought you’d have a bit of life in ya,” Dele shook his head, resisting the urge from running ahead of his teammate.

Eric tried not to pant loudly. “Not everyone’s got pencil legs, y’know?”

“You been staring at my legs?” Dele smiled goofily, the dimples on his cheeks sparking forth.

“Wanker,” Eric swore under his breath.

One did not have to be staring at Dele’s legs to know how flexible and chiselled they were. _It was the most obvious thing in the world_ , Eric thought. But he didn’t want to burst Dele’s bubble of vanity, so he let it be. The wind blew hard as the boys ran laps across the training ground. With the hills and waters of Monaco overlooking them, training had never been more refreshing and glamorous. Eric could run around and do exercises in this location for the rest of his life.

At lunch, he chose a table by the window just so he could relish the mesmerizing view. Only his reverie was interrupted by a familiar voice from behind just as immediately. “Big Eric missing Portugal, is he? So sad,”

Dele smiled mischievously as he placed his tray on the table and took his seat across. Eric decided not to dignify his presence with a response, so he continued eating his chicken salad and staring out at the ocean. “God,” Dele snorted. “You’re so dreamy,”

Eric wrinkled his brow. “I don’t think that means what you think it means,”

“And what do you think I think it means?”

“I don’t know...like, I’m charming or something...”

Dele laughed. “Yeah, yeah...you’re charming,” he said sarcastically. “That’s _exactly_ what I meant,”

Eric shook his head, giving up on this futile conversation. Dele chewed loudly, as per usual, finding a way to distract Eric without even speaking. His phone vibrated and something on his screen made him smile. Eric reckoned it was probably a meme or a photo sent by Dele’s brother or friend, so he did not even bother inquiring. But he did give himself a moment to stare at Dele’s glowing face, his cheeks lifting up in amusement, his eyes glimmering against the blue of his phone and that of the reflecting ocean. _He was such a boy_.

“Mate, aren’t you feeling terrified?” asked Dele, his eyes not shifting from the contents of his screen.

“Well, yeah, Monaco has some exciting, young...”

“I meant about England,”

“Oh,”

“You don’t think they’re going to...call me up?”

“Delboy,” Eric sighed. “That’s the last thing you should be thinking about,”

“ _Come on_ ,” Dele said dismissively. “Are you saying that you’re not at all curious about the squad?”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t, so he wisely chose to say nothing. The more he thought about it, as a matter of fact, the more concerned he felt. He certainly didn’t want to sour the ambiance at the cafeteria right this moment, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid Dele for too long.

He told Dele everything. To think that they hadn’t even known each other a few months ago seemed preposterous. From the very first moment they met, Dele made a habit of tagging alongside Eric for all their club events. Not that Eric particularly wanted to be Dele’s guide or big brother but he was rendered absolutely helpless when Dele approached him in pre-season and asked him where he could find the best curtains for his flat. It was an innocuous question from a young lad in a new city; Eric simply could not walk away. So they ended up going shopping for curtains in West London, where they lost their way and had to stop over at a pub for directions and a couple of beers. Then Dele expressed his fancy for a pair of trainers he saw some other bloke wearing, so Eric dragged him to the stores and bought him the same pairs. Just when Eric pulled his phone to call a cab, Dele stopped him and invited him to his flat for a takeout dinner.

They talked till two in the morning. Dele rattled on and on about his life in MK Dons and how he and his mates got in trouble with the teachers and the coaches. The anecdotes were fine but what drew him to Dele was the amusement with which he spoke: a million words a minute, fits of random laughter, bouncing in place as if his stories were physically moving him. But he wasn’t all about himself, either. His eyes beamed with curiosity as he asked Eric how his upbringing in Portugal was like. _How was the weather, how were the girls, how do you say ‘fucking idiot’ in Portuguese...._

When Eric called himself a cab in the middle of the night, he wasn’t so much sad as he was excited. He could feel the same vibes from Dele, too. This was just the beginning of a close, exciting and lasting friendship. He could still remember the spark in Dele’s eyes as he waved goodbye from the entrance of his building. From then onwards, Eric had no trouble in feeling comfortable in Dele’s company; there was no hesitation, no resentment and no secrets. It was just the two of them having a time of their lives.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eric was watching old Youtube videos on his laptop when someone knocked on his hotel door. It was hardly surprising that it was Dele’s lively face that greeted him as he opened the door. Dele followed him in casually. “Guess what?”

Eric shrugged, without even turning back.

“I got into the team,”

Eric turned around and studied Dele’s face. “The first team?”

“Southgate just phoned me,”

Eric grinned and reached forward for a hug. “I don’t know what you were worrying about. This was always in the bag,”

Dele smiled graciously and took a seat on an armchair across the bed. Upon observing Eric’s tired and subdued reaction, it was clear that he had not received the same call from Southgate. And so now he felt like an arsehole for barging into Eric’s room the night before a game and informing him of news that he specifically wanted to avoid. Chiding himself mentally, Dele spoke up awkwardly. “You’re gonna a call soon, mate. I’m sure of it,”

 “It’s not a big deal, you know. I like...playing with the under-21s,”

“You do?” Dele raised an eyebrow.

Eric abruptly nodded.

Dele knew Eric was lying through his teeth and he wasn’t sure he wanted to comply with his nice-guy routine. They were good friends after all, who should be able to express their feelings effortless to each other. He didn’t just want to talk and laugh with Eric; he wanted to listen and feel. So Dele did the most natural thing he could. “That’s a load of shite,”

Eric chuckled. “What do you want me to say? I’m trying to be humble,”

“I know. But maybe you should...not be humble about this. Like you’ve got to really want it. If you don’t want something, then nobody’s gonna give it to you, you know?”

“I do want it. But there isn’t nothing I can do about this, is there?” Eric sighed. “Representing my country is all I’ve ever wanted to do,”

Dele paused, studying the passion spreading over Eric’s face. His purposeful but heedful silence urged Eric to continue speaking. “I mean...I’ve wanted this since the day I went to the England camp at Portugal. I’ve showed you the photo, right?”

“Yeah,” Dele said enthusiastically. “You were an adorable mop of hair!”

“Yeah, well...the ladies loved it,”

“I’m sure they did,” Dele snorted.

“Anyways, when I met David Beckham...” Eric continued. “That’s when I knew that this is what I wanted to do for the rest of my life,”

“Meet little boys?”

“Del!” Eric threw his pillows at Dele. “For fuck’s sake...”

They broke out into laughter as Dele tried to shield himself from the firing of pillows. Eventually, he collected the pillows in his hand, stood up and attacked Eric with his newfound weapons. They wrestled on the bed for a few minutes, shouting over each other, laughing, tugging, blocking, punching before Dele had to jump out to safety.

Eric exhaled and sat up. His hair had been tussled up, so he began matting it back. Dele did the same, his eyes locking with Eric’s in a shared sense of exhilaration. Dele did not want to admit that this little bit of action had gotten his adrenaline high and running because that would only point to his physical weakness. He definitely needed to hit the gym more. Regardless, he sat down again, this time on the bed with Eric, intending to listen to more of what Eric was getting at. “Sorry, mate. Can’t resist a good one-liner if I see an opening,”

“That was piss poor, though. My grandmother could’ve come up with one better,”

“Okay, okay,” said Dele. “Now...tell me about your story,”

“What story? You ruined it,”

“Hey,” Dele placed his hand on Eric’s gently and projected an unflinching, intense look towards Eric. “Did you ever consider playing for Portugal?

In his gaze Eric found not only passion but a commanding sense of wonder. The kind of look that does not only silence you but compel you to tear off your facade. Even in the dim-lit aesthetic of the room, Eric could distinguish the colour and size of Dele’s dark and hypnotic eyes. He knew he was unmistakably drawn to them but he did not want to test his limits. He had no way if he had any, in the first place. He looked down at Dele’s hand clutching his own and exhaled. “Sometimes,” he said. “But it was always going to be England,”

“Why?”

And Eric found himself letting go. They talked for what felt like hours and hours about their pasts, about their feelings of patriotism and shame, isolation and insecurity, aspirations and disappointments. The funny thing was that Eric knew that Dele was 100% going to judge all his thoughts and opinions but yet he couldn’t contain them once they had settled into cosy positions on the bed. He had let Dele in and it would be a while before he could reverse this decision.

_I mean, in the beginning, I was so lonely that I wanted nothing to do with this country. I didn’t speak the fucking language, didn’t know the people and just wanted the feeling of familiarity. You could not rub away my British superiority off my eight-year-old body, I was such a piss off kid. There was that one time when my sisters and I went to this salon..._

_Fucking Scousers, mate. The food was shit, the weather shittier and I thought I’d lost my football. And I was calling up my mum every day and crying about coming back. I knew that I wasn’t nearly as smart to go to uni or do my dad’s book. You know, you put so much effort into this one sport and you think you’re special but you realize that you’re no better than every other kid doing the same thing. I’d gotten so far up my head that I didn’t realize that while I was judging other kids, I was the same, just like them. And at the end of the day, it’s just a depressing feeling, knowing that despite the amount of hard work you put in, there is a high probability that you won’t make it. And that’s what kept me down that whole period at..._

_I don’t know, I might actually go back there one day. Not unless I’m retired or broke,  of course. But that’s my home now. This is my home, too. But it’s not a bad thing to have multiple homes. I don’t just mean that in a materialistic way, but like emotional, you know. I have this idea that I will settle down at the beach with my...uh, significant other and our children. And I’ll probably coach a junior team and we’d take field trips to the mountains and then play football by the waterfalls._

_You’d still visit me, Dier?_

_I don’t know...maybe_ you _should come down. Work on your tan, eat some delicious mussels and stare at hot chicks on the beach...._

 

The following morning, Eric was woken up by a phone call. The light off the windows blinded him as he crashed out of the bed to fetch the call. Dele was splayed out on the other end of the bed, his arm dangling off the edge, his face squished against the pillow. Eric was too groggy to check the caller but once he recognized the voice on the other end, relief flooded him.

He had been called up to the first-team and he knew just the right person to tell first.

 

 

**5 th March, 2016**

The final whistle blew and Dele could feel the disappointment spreading over his body. The sullen faces of his teammates conveyed the same feeling. The crowd sang emphatically despite being let down. Lifelessly he shook hands with the Arsenal players before lumbering into the tunnels.

“We did well,” said Hugo in the changing room.

That was what was most frustrating about football. Playing well and failing to produce the results. Having your good work thrown back in your face. The passion, the heartbreak, the hate, the obsession, the tragedy, the miracles. He hated it and he knew there was no one to blame but the beautiful game.

The boys chatted a bit after the game, but there was no one planning to hang around for celebratory drinks or anything like that. Back home and forget. They were past the days of celebrating hard-fought draws against Arsenal. It was all or nothing.

 Dele was putting his things into his bag when Eric strode up to him. “Ready to head out?”

Dele took a second to remember that he had promised Eric a ride home earlier in the day. Not that Eric was any less capable of arranging transportation for himself but it had become a tradition for the two of them. Riding to trainings together, going out for meals, driving back home together after game or a concert. It was convenient, it was pleasant, it was a whole lot of fun.

The two slipped out of the stadium within the next ten minutes. The drive was initially quiet, with the two of them mulling over what went wrong at the end of the game there. But then Eric turned up the radio, and the latest R&B track did well to lighten the mood inside the car.

“Are you hungry?” asked Dele.

Eric turned to him with a sleepy grin. “I’m in the mood for a thick, juicy burger,”

“Star Spurs player spotted chomping a fatty burger following disgraceful draw to North London rival!” Dele announced, mocking the sensationalism with which they were often reported on.

“ _Does he even care about playing?_ _Footballer has given up on life_!” Eric played along, maintaining the same tone.

“Player looking four pounds heavier! Player getting lambasted on Twitter for letting go during Christmas,”

Dele laughed. They pulled up by a kebab joint and Eric hopped out of the car. He returned with two big bags of warm, spicy food that made Dele’s stomach grumble almost immediately. They agreed to not make a mess inside Dele’s luxurious car, and so they carried the food up to Eric’s flat.

He knew Eric’s flat. He knew it well. He knew where the light switches were. He knew that Eric minded shoes being worn inside but was too polite to point it out to any of his guests. He knew how to turn on the complex television system. He knew where the plates were. He knew where the napkins were. He knew that Eric preferred eating on the dining table, not the couch like Dele. He liked having a proper conversation during a meal.

As Dele was laying down the kebabs on the plates, Eric stopped over at the counter. “I’m going to take a quick shower, so you can get started,”

“Sure, don’t mind if I do,”

Except this was easier said than done and he couldn’t bring himself to begin eating whilst Eric was away in the shower. This wasn’t just takeout; this was their dinner. So he scrolled through his phone for the next twenty minutes, letting the irresistible smell of the meat torture him in waiting. Finally, Eric stepped out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but his shorts.

Dele tried hard not to stare but his bare, clear skin was proving to be an obstacle. Dele looked down at the table uncomfortably, knowing that he has been through this before. And he knew there was no way of getting around it.

“I thought you were going to eat,” said Eric, taking a seat across Dele.

“I wanted to eat together,”

Eric grinned, as he grabbed a fork from the centre of the table. “Aw, you’re making me emotional!” Eric said, wiping down an invisible tear from his eye.

They dug into the food readily. Dele chewed loudly as per usual, earning an amused glare from Eric. “Have you had the sauce? It’s supposed to be in here...” Eric reached out at the bottom of the bag and pulled out a tiny plastic bag filled with a dark red sauce. “Chilli garlic, I believe,”

Dele took the bag and poured down the sauce into his chicken. “Have you been to this place before?”

“Oh yeah, used to go there all the time my first year here. They’ve got the best chicken this part of town,”

“How come you’ve never taken me there before?”

“I haven’t? Oh well,” Eric shrugged. “Must’ve slipped my mind while I was taking you to that sushi bar or...that Portuguese beef restaurant...or that amazing crepes cafe,”

 “Fine, fine,” he said. “When we win the title, I’ll take you there myself, “

Eric chuckled. “You really think so?”

“Mate, I know it!” Dele said confidently.

“Right after we drew with fucking Arsenal?”

“That’s just part of the story. We win, we lose some, we _draw_ some and then we fucking get our teeth out and go for the jugular,”

“You’re ridiculous,” Eric shook his head.

“No, I’m serious!” he emphasized. “Tell me you don’t think we can do it this year,”

“I’m not going to say that,” Eric said dismissively.

“Because you don’t believe it,”

“Del, we just drew a game,”

“So?”

“So shut up and eat your chicken,”

Dele laughed. He was not one to cherish silence but being able to hopelessly gaze at a bare-chested Eric licking the sauce off his fingers sent him into an unfamiliar but deeply scintillating dimension of desire and admiration. He had been through the motions before, from primary school to the academy, from his close mates to the male figures that featured on his telly. Each time, he had to remind himself of his background and his ambitions in life, all of which interfered with the feelings that bubbled within his body.

“What is it?” Eric inquired, as he caught Dele staring at him.

Dele looked down at his plate. “I didn’t think you’d be up for hanging out today. I thought you were down after the game,”

“I was,” Eric noted. “I still am, but...if anyone...um, anything could make this night a bit better, it was probably...a meal with you,”

Dele resisted blushing for all of two seconds before breaking out into a full-fledged smile of amazement. “Really?”

“Why not? A bit of banter and FIFA never ruined our day,”

“It’s ‘FIFA and banter’,” Dele corrected coyly. “But thank you. I’m sorry I missed that chance today. I know how important...”

“Aw, Del...you really think I expected you to tap that in? You are as unaware of our friendship as you are of your poor finishing,”

The banter never ended. Dele grinned wryly and lowered his head. He had lost count of the number of times these ambiguous moments were broken off by an untimely joke. Just once he would have liked to see what became of these moments, if they had just let it go on naturally. It was clear to them that what they had going on extended beyond the realms of mere friendship. He knew that Eric’s smile took his breath away, that his blue eyes lifted him into the air, that his heart rocketed at the sight of Eric’s bare skin. It was physical, it was emotional, it was beyond reproach.

Once they were done with dinner, Dele chose to gather the plates and the bowls. Eric raised his eyebrows in surprise as he watched Dele carry the clutter into the kitchen. Following Dele into the kitchen, he said, “Do I need a housekeeper or something?”

Dele smiled and turned on the tap. Hot, steaming water gushed forth and Dele drew his fingers back in pain. “Ow, fuck!”

Eric laughed. “You alright?

“Your fucking tap...” Dele moved the spout, so as to moderate the water temperature. “Burned my fingers this fucking...”

“Aw, did poor Devy Aavy get hurt?” he mocked, leaning against the drawer beside Dele.

“Arsehole,” Dele whispered, pouring dish soap into the sponge.

“You don’t have to do this. We can just...chill or...”

“That’s not how it works. The ones who didn’t cook do the dishes,”

“But I didn’t cook,”

“But you bought the kebabs,”

Eric snorted. Slowly, Dele took each plate, wiped it down with water, squeezed down a line of dish soap and scrubbed. Eric’s eyes raked over his body, drinking in his curly black hair, his skinny arms, the curves and cuts of his face. Magnificent. Truly magnificent. Not only the pure physicality but the overall presence.

After placing the dishes into the rack, Dele searched for the towel. Eric reached for the towel that was hanging over the oven door and passed it over. Their fingers touched and Dele could feel his heart speed up. Eric looked at him in anticipation, holding a steady gaze that encompassed a feeling liberated from the clumsiness of words. It was just their eyes. Blue against black.

Like most things between them, it had become a competition of who could go on the longest without averting their eyes. And Dele flinched. He failed the second he decided to tempt himself into staring at Eric’s pink, parted lips. Eric leaned closer, feeling the warmth of Dele’s breath brush upon his skin. He closed his eyes until he could feel Dele’s lips against his own.

They stood there for what seemed like hours in Dele’s head. Their fingers still touching below, they genuinely could not go any faster, or any slower, or softer, or stronger. It’s like they were frozen in time and nothing could draw them up.

Eric pulled away but his face lingered within the same distance, his eyes gleaming as he took in Dele’s reaction. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world. Then Eric looked down and realized that he was still holding the towel, so he began stroking Dele’s hands with the towel, even if they were mostly dry by then. “There you go,”

Eric set aside the towel and Dele grinned. “Thanks.” He whispered, before pulling Eric by the shoulder and slamming his lips into his for another deep, longing kiss. It may have been a trying, exhaustive day but right this moment, Dele knew that he would do this all over again.

 

**28 th  Septepmer, 2016**

 

The dogs dashed forward and lapped at his cheeks. Eric closed his eyes, letting them slobber all over his face. He rubbed his fingers against their ears. He was certain he could distinguish a smile lurking underneath their wrinkled skin, because that’s how much they enjoyed being tickled by their owner.

“This is horrible,” Fran said bitterly. She lowered her head and slouched, making her dissatisfaction known.  

“I thought you loved picnics,”

“Not when it’s this hot,” she complained, covering her eyes as she spoke to him. The dogs pawed at her knees but she was apathetic to their boisterous invitations for play.

“You don’t deserve to live in England if you despise these sunny days,”

“Spoken like a true Brexiter,”

“I didn’t vote for...”

“Save it,” Fran chuckled before standing up and dusting off the grass from the back of her pants. “Now are you going to give me a lift to work, yeah?”

“I have training,”

“Should’ve thought of that when you invited me for breakfast,”

They herded the dogs into the backseat and drove away from the park. Eric rolled down his windows and snorted at his sister voraciously scrolling through her phone. “You’re great company, I must say,”

She rolled her eyes. “I could give a shit,”

“Aw, you should,” he said. “Otherwise I might have to take away your season tickets. Can’t be taken advantage of like that,”

“Bite me,” she teased, looking up from her phone. “You’re way too energetic for someone who’s just gone through a breakup. I’m expecting a beard, some added weight, chocolate stains on your shirts...something’s not right,”

Eric laughed. “What do you want me to do? Cry into my pillow every night?”

Fran paused. “I mean...do you not think about her at all?”

“Sometimes,” Eric shrugged. “But I can’t be bogged down with all that relationship bullshit. I mean, we’re into the new season, champions league football, unbeaten record...it’s exciting times,”

“Sure, sure,” she looked unconvinced. “Or you’re taking drugs,”

Something similar to drugs, he knew. But those words weren’t exiting his lips just yet. In fifteen minutes, he pulled up in front of her office building. She untied her seatbelt, gave him a kiss on his cheeks and shuffled out of the car. He headed to his flat to drop off the dogs and change out of his clothes. It was ten-thirty by the time he hopped back into his car. Then he proceeded to make one last stop before the training ground. He sent a text as soon as he pulled up by the house.

In five minutes, Dele strolled down from his front door and got inside his car. His first form of greeting was a peck on the lips. “You smell like dog,”

“What a pity,” said Eric dryly, starting the engine.

“Shit,” said Dele. “Now I’m going to smell like dog,”

“You already do,” Eric said winking.

The banter still had not ended. Eric figured it’d stop once they acknowledged their feelings for each other but alas, it had only gotten stronger. Leave it to the two of them for dropping insults on each other while they were ten minutes into making out in Dele’s car, or taking a bath in Eric’s flat; the competition was unceasing, fierce and seemed to bring out the best in them.

“How was breakfast?” asked Dele.

Eric nodded. “The food itself was good...company not so much,”

“Oh well,” said Dele. “At least you got it out of the way. We don’t want any of your siblings to get suspicious,”

“Well, she did, kind of,” Eric notified. “She’s like, ‘aren’t you supposed to be moaning after a break-up?’”

Dele bit his lip and looked down in thought.  

“But like, I guess I make it obvious. Something must be different,” Eric smiled, resting his hand on Dele’s knee.

Dele smiled in response and placed his hand on top of Eric’s.

Being in a relationship had always been terrifying but now it had become somewhat taxing as well. Eric knew that the sneaking around wouldn’t last forever but he also knew that under no circumstances could they reveal the status of their relationship to anyone. But most days, he tried not to think about it.

By the time they reached the training ground, most of the team were already bouncing about in the grass. They were welcomed with a round of whistles from the boys, making Eric roll his eyes and Dele blush with reluctance. Dele ran off away from Eric and joined up with Sonny while Eric jogged towards Kyle and Jan.

“Do you lads ever show up on time?” inquired Kyle, stretching his arm.

“ _He_ does,” Jan answered. “It’s Dele that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

Eric laughed. “Please let him know. What a lazy arse,”

“Hey, hey!” Kyle protested. “I’m going to tell him that,”

“It’s true, he’s not gonna deny it,”

“Yeah, but he’ll mind it coming from his best mate,” said Jan.

They continued doing drills and exercises for the next hour or so, after which they split up into two groups and played a 60 minute match. Seeing as how they had an important match against Manchester City in a couple of days, it was essential that they set their strategy accordingly. Poch screamed instructions at them during their game, getting in the faces of all the players till they perfected their role in the system. Losing Harry was upsetting but now they were presented with the opportunity to prove themselves beyond the accomplishments of their star striker.

Eric and Dele crossed paths a few times during the match but those moments were burdened with the intensity of the game, where incomprehensible roars and grunts and curses replaced the calmness of speech. Afterwards, they were trudging off the field, their bodies ringing with the pains of their training. Eric was craning his neck when he found Toby walking alongside. “Hey mate, how you doing?” he asked.

Eric, slightly bemused by the urgency of the question, said, “Not too bad. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine...I just...” he lowered his voice. “I just wanted to check in. See if you’re doing alright after the...” he cocked his eyebrow.

“Breakup?”

Toby nodded.

“I...I...I’m doing alright. You know...I’ve got a wonderful support system and it’s...pretty amazing how everyone has helped me to...” Eric thought he should really be creating a blueprint for these kinds of questions, seeing how often they were being lobbed at him. On one hand, he appreciated the concern from his teammates and his siblings. On the other hand, it was not a matter of concern at all and it was getting annoying to be treating it as such.

At lunch, he sat with Jan, Toby and Chris. His eyes scanned the dining hall but Dele was nowhere to be found. So he began eating and talking with the other boys at his table. About ten minutes later strolled in Dele and Danny through the doors. Their body language signalled that they had indeed been in the gaffers’ office. As Dele poured a glass of juice on the other end of the room, Danny strode towards the table and pulled out a chair.

“Is the gaffer tense?” asked Chris.

“Not like he’s gonna be mad at his son, huh?” Jan joked, biting into his apple.

Danny rolled his eyes. “No, he’s just...got his own plans for the game against City. Missing Harry obviously destabilizes our shape a bit so...”

“What’d he say to Dele?” asked Eric.

“Oh, always the worried big brother, eh!” commented Chris playfully.

The boys laughed as Eric just shook his head silently. Though he listened to the boys talking tactics for their upcoming game, his eyes were fixated on Dele. He knew he was being conspicuous but really, he couldn’t help it. He had taken it upon himself from the very beginning to take care of Dele and to keep a steady eye on him and though the dynamics of their relationship had changed, this need to protect him had only amplified over time.

“Earth to Dier!” announced Danny. “Mate, do you actually want to lose the game?”

Eric turned his head back towards the table and cleared his throat. “So we were talking about defensive press in...”

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“C’mon, just one more episode?” Dele begged, curling his mouth into a deliberate pout.

“No,” Eric refused, holding the remote control away from Dele’s grasp. “I’m not having you wake up late again,”

“Well, you’re sleeping over. You can wake me up whenever you want,”

Eric shook his head and turned off the telly. Dele groaned and buried his face into the pillow. Eric sighed and began stroking Dele’s head. “Del, what did the gaffer speak to you about?”

Dele raised his head to face Eric. “Just tactics,”

“Really?”

“Yeah...” Dele turned his body, so he could lay his head on Eric’s chest and wrap his arm around his body. “Just that I’m going to have to take more responsibility this year. Harry’s out for a month and he wants to experiment with other formations that might put me a bit further up...so he was just talking it out,”

“And you’re okay with all that?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, it’s scary but...I can’t become a better player unless I take on more challenges,”

Eric planted a kiss on his forehead, as if he were to kissing his fears away. Having Dele in his arms is exactly what he’d like to be doing every night. Despite his temper and occasional cockiness, he was still a naive, young boy finding his way. All Eric could do is support him through the journey.

“Y’know, a bunch of other boys asked me about the breakup today,” Eric mentioned as he was drawing circles around Dele’s ear.

“What’d you tell them?”

“That I’m with this other bloke,”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, and this one’s not going away anytime soon,” Eric smiled.

Dele chuckled. “No, seriously, what’d you tell them?”

“I just skirted around the issue,” Eric revealed. “God knows how much I want to tell them the truth,”

Dele looked up gravely. “Baby, we agreed,”

“I know. I’m not gonna break any promises,” Eric assured. “I’m just letting you know where I stand on all this,”

Dele sighed and reached up to kiss Eric. “I know. You’re the best,” he said, adjusting his body against Eric’s.

His cold hands began feeling over Eric’s bare body, massaging his chest, fingers prickling his nipples. It wasn’t long before Dele slid his hand into Eric’s briefs. Within a few minutes, Eric was biting his lip in cruel pleasure. Dele continued stroking, each movement eliciting a string of moans out of his boyfriend. “Fuck,” Eric squirmed under Dele’s touch, his back arching in thirst for release. His eyes fluttered close as the friction of Dele’s motions overwhelmed his senses.

Dele was kind enough to fetch him a towel after his mind-numbing orgasm. Eric smiled at Dele as he cleaned him off. Afterwards, they laid in each other’s arms and let the intimacy of silence soothe over their bodies. It wasn’t exciting or noteworthy but Eric would never forget nights like these.

 

**April 17, 2017**

 

Dele woke up with the most acute headache he’s ever had. Blocking his eyes from the piercing sunlight, he stumbled into his kitchen. Harry was flying eggs in a pan, the sound of the sizzle exploding into Dele’s ears. He took a seat at the counter, burying his head into his arms.

Harry slammed a glass of water on the counter. “In one go,” he instructed.

Dele closed his eyes and chugged down the entire glass. The dizziness still persisted but at least he was able to feel a bit refreshed. “What time is it?” he asked, squinting at the clock above the oven.

“11:53.” Harry answered.

“Are you fucking serious?” Dele groaned, dropping his head on the counter again. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I just woke up twenty minutes ago.” He said. “Besides, who cares? It’s not like you’ve training today,”

Dele staggered back to his bedroom to get his phone. He scrolled through the litany of messages congesting his inbox without bothering to read any of them in detail. Before he could begin to view the photos, the brightness of the screen needled his vision and he had to set his phone aside. He poured himself another glass of water and tried to swallow it as quickly as he could.

“What the fuck happened last night?”

Harry shrugged. “Drinking, girls...someone got their car trashed, I think,”

Dele shook his head and checked his messages again. “When did Eric leave?”

“Uh...” Harry took a few seconds to recall. “Like one or something. I’m not sure. He looked a bit grumpy as he was leaving.”

“No shit,” Dele said. “We may have had a quarrel.”

Harry carried over a plate of scrambled eggs and placed it on the table before Dele. Dele began nibbling at the food. “I don’t remember much of it...but it was probably bad enough for him to leave,”

Harry nodded before shuffling to the living room. He returned with today’s papers and flung them at Dele. “The second page on the Sports section,” he said.

As Dele flipped through, Harry added, “I don’t think it’s true, but...”

Dele froze at the headline:   **Tottenham Midfielder Eric Dier to Leave Tottenham Hotspur for United in a £40 Million Swoop**. He picked up his phone and immediately sent a message to Eric. _Where are you? We need to talk._

His mind refused to conceive of a scenario in which they actually argued over this. This was nothing more than backroom gossip. Mindless, provocative rumour-baiting that funded the petty journalism espoused by the likes of Sun and the Mirror. It was nothing. It was just bullshit. Nevertheless, Dele’s paranoia had already emerged. He thought he could drill at his screen till he received a reply from Eric; however no such message appeared. His eggs were drying on the plate but he had long forgotten to eat. Being plunked into tension was apparently the best cure for a hangover.

Finally, he stood up. “Don’t wait up. I’ll text you.”

He slipped into his sweatpants and a hoodie before grabbing his car keys. Every red light seemed to draw a string of swear words out of him. He considered that Eric might not even be home but he had to try. He thought back to the night before and wondered what could he have possible said to upset Eric.

They were having a brilliant night out. All their mates from the club and their friends rolled up to the hottest club in the town and were having the time of their life. Things had gotten a little crazy, what with the alcohol running into their cups every couple of minutes, but it was still manageable and under control. He remembered dancing with Eric under the flashing lights. They had even gotten away with a bit of grinding due to the packed dance floor and the dark aesthetic of the club. It wasn’t long before Eric dragged Dele to the bathroom and gave him the gift of an astonishing blowjob.  Dele could barely form articulate sentences afterwards. He had to credit his resolve for not simply lunging at Eric and biting his lips off in front of the entire crowd.

What happened after that escaped his mind. He knew his sips had turned into swigs, his clarity had declined, and his head had begun rocking. The details were hazy and he thought it best not to torture his mind over that. He did remember Eric pulling out his phone and showing him something but there was nothing else about the exchange he could recall. It was gone, it was lost and it was not in his power anymore.

He pulled up by Eric’s flat and leaped out of the vehicle. He rushed to the third floor and rapped the door with his fist. Now he wished he had brought his key along, but thankfully, the door opened within a few seconds of knocking.

Eric’s face scared him as much as it calmed him. He wouldn’t budge from the door and glared at Dele dispassionately. Dele swallowed, “Why haven’t you replied to my texts?”

Eric continued staring. “I needed some time,”

“For what?”

Eric stepped out of the doorway and Dele followed him into his living room. “To think over things,”

Dele slumped down on the sofa, his eyes getting itchier. “Are you leaving?”

“What?” Eric turned around to face Dele.

“Are you leaving Spurs?” His voice broke at the thought of this happening. It felt like they had just gotten started. That they had years and years to go before they were forced to make any big decisions. That he could play with Eric at the ground till they were old and wrinkly.

“What?” Eric repeated, this time with more concern. He strode towards Dele and sat next to him on the sofa. “Where’d you hear that?”

“The papers today. Says you’re moving to Manchester,”

“Well, I read that you’re moving to Madrid.” Eric revealed.

“Where does it say that?”

“I showed you last night at the club, when...” Eric paused, pulling out his phone. He brought up the article and showed it to Dele.

Dele breathed a sigh of relief as he read through the article. It was the customary make-believe that he has gotten so used to. Eric looked at him in worry when he finished reading it. “So you’re not leaving?” he asked.

Dele cried and shook his head. “No, no, I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, with you, with the rest of the boys, with this beautiful club,”

Eric smiled. “And you thought I’d leave?”

Dele lowered his head. “I just...I got worried, Eric. This has happened so many times with Spurs. The best players pack their shit and leave for better fortunes and... just...”

“You think I’m the best player?” he smirked.

Dele laughed. “I think Spurs can fall apart if you’re not there.” He pushed forward and placed his head on Eric’s shoulder.

“Del...” Eric cooed, caressing Dele’s cheeks. “We’re going to have to get used to being linked to big clubs every summer. Price of being good, I tell you.”

Dele smiled. To think for a second that he was willing to visualize a future in which he did not see Eric every day. A future in which he would not be able to hold him like this. Kiss him at every opportunity. Jump on his back at training. Take photos of him sleeping and eating.  Be the little spoon to his big. Be woken up by a peppering of kisses along his face. Be given breakfast without faul. Be driven to trainings every other day. It may have seemed like a monotonous routine to an outsider but he’d trade in all the luxuries of life to be able to do this every day.

“I love you.” he said softly.

Eric grabbed him by the hair and leaned down to kiss him. “You’re an idiot.”  

**5 th May, 2017**

 

It hurt. He could barely move or see clearly, much less go through an entire interview. But he did because that’s what big boys do. As humiliating as it was, he bucked up the courage to place himself before a camera and answer the questions diligently. “I don’t know what more can I say. We’re very disappointed.”

It was like beating a dead horse. They had been through the motions before: the lukewarm beginning, the slump, the embarrassment, the steady improvement, the crackling vein of form, the sudden burst of hope, the euphoria.

And then the eventual drop.

His sunken, dried-out eyes made no effort of disguising his emotions. They lost the game and their chance at the title and it fucking hurt. Nobody said a word in the dressing room; they just gathered their stuff and left in defeat. Dele had already fled by the time Eric wrapped up with his post-match interviews. He was not one to stick around and console his teammates; he found no honour in nights like this.

Nevertheless, Eric decided to head over to Dele’s house to check up on him anyway. Pulling up into the driveway, he noticed that the lights were out and the windows were shut. Upon entering, he could hear faint music from the bedroom upstairs. He trudged up the stairs and found Dele on the sofa, a glass in his hand, his head nodding to the music.

“Dele?” Eric stared at him, baffled. “Are you okay?”

 “Why, Dier...I’m perfectly alright, mate,”

The stench of whiskey was unmistakable. Eric dropped his bags near the door. “We’ve still got three games left, you know?”

Dele smirked. Eric shook his head upon seeing how much of the whiskey had been depleted. He slumped down next to him and leaned back. “It’s a shit feeling, isn’t it?” Dele said, smirking. “You try so hard, you go on winning runs, you keep the sheets clean and then a single goal fucks you over, and you’ve got nothing to say.”

“I fucked it up, didn’t I?”

“Hey!” Dele pressed down on Eric’s shoulder. “No one fucked up anything. We were due a bad night and it just happened to be tonight,”

“Kills the title, though, “

“It was never ours to take,”

“You say that now,”

“Eric,” Dele said, leaning closer to him. He placed his hand on the small of his neck and whispered, “Forget about it.”

Eric stared at Dele, trying to gauge his expression. The drunken glimmer in his eyes did not do any favours for the dark circles hovering underneath. His lips were parted, full and glistening. The boy was not any more content than he was, but he had made the most daring effort to seem so. The heat of the whiskey wafted between them. Eric moved for Dele’s head and leaned down to kiss him.

As bitter as it was, Dele’s mouth comforted him. He grinned as he broke away for a breath. “Now why would you it was a good idea to drink...”

“I don’t need your...”

“---without me?”

Dele grinned. Eric grabbed the glass on the table and poured himself a bit of the whiskey. He winced as it burnt down his throat. Putting his arm around Dele, he chuckled. “Look at us, such pathetic bottlers.”

Dele stared out at the window from Eric’s arms. “I dunno, mate. It’s a weird feeling,”

“Like we should be feeling bad even though we’ve got plenty to be proud about?”

Dele glared up at Eric suddenly, as if he had just realized something. “I know. We didn’t bottle. We bottled bottling.”

Eric broke out into laughter. The feeling wasn’t one of success and triumph but it was going to have to do.

 

**October 16 th, 2017 **

 

“Hey, look...” Dele said, turning the screen of his phone towards Eric. “Someone Celine’d your goal,”

Eric wrinkled his forehead. “What does that mean?”

“It means they set your goal to the song from Titanic,”

Eric watched the clip in amusement, even though Dele knew that his ears were often blocked during a flight. Dele himself had watched Eric’s thunder volley at least twenty times, but nothing really outdid the adrenaline of having watched it in real time. Eric’s goal earned them the three points they thought they would drop against a resilient Stoke team. It also shot them up to 2nd place in the league table.

Dele scrolled through his phone as Eric gazed out into the cluster of clouds. “Apparently Verrati is injured,” informed Dele, reading the news article.

“Doesn’t concern me,” Eric said nonchalantly.

“No?” Dele smirked.

“They’re going to come at us either way,”

“You’re ridiculous,” Dele shook his head, tucking his phone into his pocket. “God forbid we get a little optimistic.”

Dele leaned back and rested his head on Eric’s shoulder. They had another hour or so before landing. A few of the Belgian boys were chatting at the back but the cabin was mostly quiet, if not a bit sleepy. Dele lifted his feet off the floor and curled up against Eric. He closed his eyes and shivered.

“Are you feeling cold?” Eric touched Dele’s skin to assess.

“A little bit,”

Eric chuckled. He raised his neck and cleared his throat. “Yo, Danny, can you pass that spare blanket?”

Dele felt the blanket being tossed over his head. Eric unfolded it and spread it over Dele’s body. Dele pulled up the blanket up to his neck and kissed Eric on the shoulder. Over time, he had begun caring less and less about what their teammates could see. He knew that if they hadn’t minded the physical affection before, then there was no way they would mind it now. That’s how they were, with or without the relationship.

Dele got about 20 minutes of fitful sleep before he was woken up for good by an invasive whistle. To his relief, it wasn’t some kind of an aircraft emergency. He spotted Kyle to his diagonal right, giggling. Dele groaned and stuck his middle finger at him.

Eric laughed. “Doesn’t matter. We’re going to be there soon, anyways,”

“I’m just...done,” Dele shook the blanket off and craned his neck. “It’s exhausting, playing in Europe,”

“You really have to give it your all to win it all,”

“Confucius,”

“No, I came up with that myself,”

“Bullshit,” Dele hissed. “I’ve probably heard that a million times in one of those Rocky movies,”

“It’s a variation!” Eric insisted, before sighing. “Look, we’ll just go to the hotel, get dinner, have an early night in and...”

“No,” Dele said. “Uhm...” He stroked his thumb against Eric’s hand. “I was thinking...since we’re in Paris...uh...why don’t we...” he paused. “take a stroll around after dinner? I looked up the hotel and it’s not too far away from Notre Dame,”

Eric smiled. “Dele...” he said, dragging the name. “We’ve got a game tomorrow night and if we fuck up...”

“Listen...” Dele urged, clutching at Eric’s arm. “It’ll only take twenty minutes or half an hour,”

Eric glared at Dele and a reluctant grin broke through his lips. As if he would ever be able to say no to Dele. Dele did not even bother calling forth his puppy dog face that always baits Eric. Dele laughed and angled his body towards Eric again. Eric let out a small grunt as he wrapped his arm around. “But I’m going to be timing the whole thing, yeah?”

 

They decided to skip the team dinner to sneak out into the Paris streets. First, Dele announced that he was feeling a bit under the weather and made his way to his room. Eric assured Pochettino and the rest of the squad that all Dele needed was some rest and that there was nothing to worry about in terms of their line-up the following night. As he left the lobby under the pretext of checking up on Dele, he swore he caught a devilish wink from Mousa.

Within the next fifteen minutes, they were out. It was fortunately quite late and their particular alley was devoid of the night crowd that normally darted through the city. They remained anonymous in their hoodies and sweatpants. In the darkness, Dele couldn’t help but hold Eric’s hand. This was their moment and he sure as hell wasn’t going to be afraid.

“Gorgeous,” Eric said as they stopped over at a bridge overlooking the river. The streetlights reflected onto the simmering water and the boats floated in a row by the concrete.

“I know. I’m so glad we made it just after...”

“I wasn’t talking about the scenery,”

Dele blushed as Eric pulled out his phone. He told Dele to stand still and then took a few photos of him, the river and the tower as backdrop. Then he got into the frame himself and they took a series of selfies.

“We live really fortunate lives,” said Dele, as they continued walking along the cobbled path.

Eric nodded. “It’s still a bit surreal,”

Dele tightened his grip on Eric’s hand. “Like, what’s the worst that can happen, right? We lose matches, we lose our starting spots, we move clubs, we miss out on trophies...we will still have a paycheck, and a comfortable life with friends and family.”

The two halted before the church and gazed up at in wonder. The doors were closed, the lights were shut but it still looked like the most exquisite structure that has ever existed in this world.

“We are fortunate, we are safe...and we are protected. We can do whatever we want,” Dele said, turning to Eric in anticipation. “We should do whatever want,”

Eric looked at his boyfriend, puzzled. “What are you saying?”

Dele leaned closer and kissed Eric lightly. “We should do what we want, be what we want,” he said. “People might care but it doesn’t really matter. I think we’ll be fine,”

Eric smiled. “Really?”

“Yes,” Dele nodded, taking Eric’s face in his hands. “We’ve been fine before, and I know we will continue to be fine.”

There was no guarantee to his statement, no precedents to be followed or any sufficient proof to take his word. But Eric knew. He knew. He couldn’t be surer as he held Dele in his arms and kissed him like it was the only thing he knew how to do. They were going to be fine.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Would love any comments/criticism/feedback!


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